Our Fates Are Intertwined (They Led Us Here)
by EmilyFuckingFitch
Summary: It isn't supposed to be this way, she thinks. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Set in Skins: Fire. Takes on the perspectives of Emily, Naomi, Effy and Katie. Part of FWIW (PS) 'verse.
1. Recommended Track Listing

Recommended track listing:

**Emily Fitch: Strength**

1) I Can Feel A Hot One—Manchester Orchestra

2) Your Ex-Lover is Dead—Stars

**Naomi Campbell: Hope**

3) Transatlanticism—Death Cab For Cutie

4) Running—No Doubt

**Effy Stonem: Redemption**

5) Rubik's Cube—Athlete

6) Shake It Out—Florence and the Machine

**Katie Fitch: Humility**

7) Dream—Priscilla Ahn

8) Break—Son Lux

9) Hear You Me—Jimmy Eat World

**Epilogue—Katie and Emily Fitch: Rebirth**

Katie Fitch (Part 1)

10) Heartbeats—Jose Gonzalez

11) The Longer I Run—Peter Bradley Adams

12) Calendar Girl—Stars

Emily Fitch (Part 2)

13) VCR—The xx

14) This—Ed Sheeran

15) Hey Ho—The Lumineers


	2. Emily Fitch: Strength

It isn't supposed to be this way, she thinks.

This isn't how it's supposed to be.

She's staring at Naomi's frail figure in the tiny hospital bed—she looks much, much too small in it. She looks pale, thin, _fragile, _and it simply breaks Emily's heart, fracturing off another piece of an already cracking glass, because that bed seemingly engulfs Naomi's body, a body that used to be tall and strong and could carry her anywhere, everywhere. Now Naomi looks as though her body can barely hold itself together, let alone hold her.

_God,_ just four months ago, she visited Naomi and everything was _fine. _They were lying in the same bed and Naomi was cradling her, holding her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear that meant everything to her. Naomi was mumbling promises on her skin that were meant to be kept, that she intended to keep. Just four months ago everything was fine, everything was perfect, finally meant to be and happening how she'd always dreamt it would be.

Emily bites her lip. She won't cry. Not here. Not when Naomi's in there trying to fight to inhale another breath, to keep on living for another moment.

She can't break. She can't.

(She knows that if she does, nothing will put her back together, and nothing will keep her together.)

"I can't go in," Emily finally whispers out.

She looks away from Naomi's body, trying to keep her tears at bay. She wills herself to calm down. She can't be overcome with rampant emotions clawing at her, wanting more than anything to see her be consumed whole—fear, regret, depression, anger, nostalgia—she can't let them win. She can't let Naomi see her fall apart.

She's not ready to face this imminent reality.

(In retrospect, she will never be ready to face this reality.

Emily, of course, knows this all too well.)

"I just— I just need some more time."

She turns to Effy, whose expression alternates between remorse and melancholia, whose lips are quivering just as hers is, whose tears are threatening to fall, whose eyes now look like glass threatening to shatter.

But they don't. Instead, Effy looks up and blinks her tears away. She exhales deeply and looks back at Emily, her face finally settling on remorse and her eyes crystallized, full of pity.

"There isn't any more time, Emily," she tells her, gently, honestly.

Emily knows this, she does. But it's not any easier to accept, because how is she supposed to handle this truth? She and Naomi had already planned out their lives. They were so certain that it would happen, so certain that nothing would stop them, so certain that nothing else mattered except for them. They were supposed to travel together after she finished her internship in New York, settle down in London, get a flat together. They were supposed to get married, have kids, watch them grow up and fall in love and have a family of their own.

She and Naomi were supposed to be together, forever.

They were supposed to have _time. _

Now nothing else was certain except for _this, _this _truth _that's completely ruined them, ruined her, ruined Naomi, because their time has ran out, down to mere pebbles of sand in their hourglass.

(She thought that forever meant at least a lifetime, not five _years_.)

"I'm so angry with her," she grits through her teeth.

She knows before she says them that that isn't true, and from the sad look in Effy's eyes, she knows it too. Truthfully, she's angry at everything _except _Naomi. She's angry with the cards she and Naomi have been dealt, she's angry with their circumstance, about things she cannot change, about how their entire future was now completely dismantled without her knowing. Taken from her.

Gone.

"She's dying, Emily."

Emily clenches her fists. She knows this already, knows she can't escape it. She knows she can't run from it. She doesn't need Effy to reiterate what she already _knows. _

(It's been repeating over and over in her head since she's heard, no matter how much she wills her mind to stop.

But it won't stop.)

"I know."

Her tears begin to fall when those words spill from her lips. 'I know' is what they always say to each other, she and Naomi, when no other words were sufficient enough to say what they truly meant, what they truly felt.

_("I love you, too."_

"_I know.")_

'I know' was meant to mean 'I love you' and more. It was meant to mean 'no one else can compare to you,' and 'you're it for me,' and 'forever and always,' and 'I will never love anyone else more than I love you.' It was meant to mean 'you're my present and future and everything else in between.' Those two words held an entire world for only them to know and only for them to live in.

And now 'I know' was tainted by _this. _'I know' now meant 'you're dying and I can't accept it but I have to.' It now meant 'we don't have enough time for me to show you how I love you more than you can possibly believe.' It now meant 'when you're gone, so will I.'

_("I love you."_

"_Yeah, I know.")_

'I know' now meant something else entirely, erasing years worth of love carefully carved into those two words and wounds inflicted on their bodies to etch it on there, replaced by seconds worth of knowing their time together is limited, ticking.

It's erasing everything they've built together and it isn't _fair._

She doesn't realize how hard she's crying until Effy pulls her into her arms and hugs her tightly.

(She remembers when she used to hold Effy like Effy's holding her now, when they were in the bathroom at Pandora's party, when Effy was fighting a losing battle against the monsters in her head, when she almost resigned herself to a fate that would've meant losing herself completely.

How times have changed, to have _Effy _hold her the same way Emily held her years ago, to stop her from falling apart on her own.)

"Look at me," Effy tells her, pulling back to look at Emily's tearstained face. "Be strong. You need to be strong for her like she was strong for you."

She finds herself nodding but she feels nothing inside her epitomizing strength. She doesn't have any energy to do what she's told, to do what Naomi has done for her for the past months. She already feels so tired and defeated and all she wants to do is lie in a bed and curl in a ball and _cry. _She just wants to pause time, even for a bit, for a little while. She needs time to figure out how to do this, how to keep a brave face, because right now she's not as strong as Naomi. She's not— she can't— she—

Effy squeezes her shoulders.

She takes a deep breath.

She has to.

She walks to the room, opens the door, goes inside. She sees Naomi's fragile body, her head facing the other direction, her auburn hair, thinned. White tubes running up her arms, her nose. She's so, so pale. The only sounds Emily hears are Naomi's faint breathing and her heart monitor beeping, the only thing that's telling her that Naomi, right now, is still alive. Her Naomi is still here with her.

For now.

(She's sure that when it stops beeping, her own heart will stop thumping.

She's sure of it.)

She walks up to Naomi, lifts up the blanket to slip under it. The movement rouses Naomi from her light sleep, and she slowly turns her head to see who it is. Emily sees Naomi's eyes brighten when she realizes that it's her. They sparkle, glint just like they did four months ago, when Emily didn't know about Naomi's condition, and for a moment, she forgets the situation they're in, forgets why they're in the hospital in the first place.

But then Naomi struggles to give her a small, weak smile, and just like that, Emily remembers.

She can't help it.

She breaks.

She starts crying before she can cover her face on Naomi's stomach. Her sobs wrack her body as she curls herself around Naomi's waist. Her tears are staining through Naomi's shirt, but she can't stop. Everything that she's been trying to suppress, all her thoughts that have been gnawing at her since she's found out, all her emotions that she's been trying to numb, they all crawl out of their den. They strike at her, pierce through her, devour her.

She lets them.

(She doesn't have the strength to fight back anymore. She's too tired. Much too tired.)

She feels Naomi's hands running through her hair, and it only makes her cry harder. _Naomi's _trying to soothe _her._ God, how perverse is this. Naomi's the one who needs to be comforted, _she's _the one who's been in pain for god knows how long and how much and fucking _dying, _and yet _she's _the one who's being coddled.

Naomi _still _has to be strong for her, even after everything, and Emily feels her chest constrict tightly, because what is she going to do, when Naomi's gone?

What is she going to do without her?

"I'm sorry," Naomi croaks out.

She nods weakly. "I know."

Emily knows what she's trying to say. She's sorry that she didn't tell her. She's sorry that this situation they're in is shitty. She's sorry that it had to be this way. She's sorry she can't change it. She's sorry, for everything.

And if Emily were to be honest, she's sorry, too. But instead, she says 'I know,' because sorry wouldn't mean what she wants it to mean. What she wants to say is 'it's okay,' and 'you were being stupid but I love you,' and 'I still love you despite it all,' all at once, and she's not sorry for any of that.

(More than that, though, she wants it to simply mean 'I love you' again, but she knows that it won't if she says it now.)

Emily turns her face to Naomi's, her cheek still on her stomach. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Naomi gives her a sad smile, still combing Emily's hair with her fingers. "Would you, if you were me?"

She thinks about this, thinks about how painful it would've been to tell Naomi, thinks about how much it would've hurt her, thinks about how agonizing it would've been to see Naomi in pain, to know that she's the one who'd caused it. She thinks about all this and she still wants to say yes, but she knows that it would've been a lie. As much as she doesn't want it to be true, if she were to be honest, she would've done the same thing Naomi did for her.

And it _kills _her, to know that this is how it would've been, if their roles were reversed.

(She wishes that they would've been reversed if it meant that Naomi would be alive, even if she were dead. But she knows that if they did, Naomi would wish the same, for them to reverse back.

"_I'd die for you. I love you. I love you so much, and it's killing me."_

If there were such a thing as loving too much, she and Naomi would be guilty ten times over.)

Emily doesn't answer Naomi's question. Instead, she moves to lie next to Naomi, tells her, "Don't you dare leave me, Naomi. Don't you dare," but it comes out as a plea.

She brushes Emily's bangs out of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Ems," she whispers.

Emily knows it means she can't make promises to her she knows she can't keep. Her heart constricts painfully so, because it means Naomi has given up. It means she doesn't think she can fight it any longer.

She burrows her head in Naomi's neck, shakes her head. "This isn't fair."

"I know."

She carefully wraps her arms around Naomi tighter. "It's not fair. We've only had five years together, Naomi." She feels her tears welling up again.

Emily looks up at her. "I still remember everything," she says, her voice cracking.

Naomi turns her body to face Emily, cups her cheek, wipes her tears away with her thumb. "I do, too."

She kisses Emily's forehead. "Remember when we first kissed?"

Emily nods.

"I knew then, that you were the one." Naomi lets out a weak laugh. "It scared the fuck out of me."

She lets out a teary smile. "Is that why you ran?"

"Partly. But mostly because Katie looked like she was just 'bout to rip my throat out."

"Such a charmer, my sister." She runs her hands up Naomi's back. "Do you remember when I followed you home from school?"

"Which time?"

"Oh, don't be a cunt," Emily chuckles out. "The day before we went to the lake."

"Yeah," she breathes out.

Her eyes softened. "That's when I knew, when we were laying on the floor. I thought, this girl, I love her. I can't—I can't _not _be with her. Right then, I knew I loved you."

(And all the times after that, all the times they've spent together, whether good or bad, through everything, she knew that she could never _stop _loving her.)

She breathes Naomi in, kisses her neck. "I'm not letting you go, Naomi. I can't."

"Em." Naomi pulls back to look at her. "Promise me, promise me when I'm not here anymore, you'll find someone good, yeah?" Her eyes dim fractionally, but Emily notices. "Find someone who'll love you as much as I love you."

Emily doesn't even contemplate this. She shakes her head. "I won't. There's no other you." She's already built a world with Naomi. She can't burn it to ash. She simply can't.

(She knows that if she tries, the fires will singe her, give her first-degree burns that will never heal.

Or worse, burn her alive.)

"Try, for me."

She shakes her head again, her eyes wet. "I can't."

She knows that Naomi means well, but this isn't something she can do. It's out of the question. She just can't. Naomi's her entire _world, _and to lose her would mean she loses it all. Damaged goods. She wouldn't be salvageable to anyone else.

(She wouldn't want to be salvageable to anyone else anyway. She doesn't want anyone but Naomi, for her entire lifetime.)

"Please, Em," Naomi wavers, threading her fingers through Emily's hair.

"No," she says resolutely.

There has to be another way out of this, Emily thinks. There has to be.

Naomi bites her lip, her tears welling up. "I wouldn't be able to stand it, you know," she whispers out. "If I knew you'll be here alone, when I'm gone."

She sits up, her hands on either side of Naomi, and leans down. "Then don't leave," she pleads.

"Em—"

"No," she cuts off. "We'll find a way. We will." She cups Naomi's cheek, kisses her tears away. "I'm not leaving you, and you're not leaving me. We'll find a way, Naomi. We will," she tells her, and she means it. They'll find a way, she thinks. Whatever it is, they'll find it.

Naomi gives her a sad smile. "He says it's terminal, Em."

"I don't care. We'll find the best doctor for you, in the States."

She shakes her head. "We don't have the mon—"

Emily holds her head still. "I'll use my savings," she whispers.

"Em, no. That's for New York, for your future."

She lets out a frustrated noise. "There is no future without you Naomi!" She leans down again, looks at her straight in the eye. "I don't care if I'm dirt poor or starving. I'll swallow my pride and beg my parents for money to pay for the medical bills if I have to. As long as there's a chance it'll keep you alive, I don't care."

"I need you here. I need you with me," Emily says, almost inaudibly. She doesn't think she knows how to _not_ have Naomi with her, by her side.

(She doesn't ever want to learn how to.)

Naomi bites her lip and nods. She holds Emily close. "I love you."

"I know."

She means it as 'you and me, we're in this together,' means it as 'I can't live without you,' means it as 'our fates are intertwined, so whatever happens to you, happens to me.'

Most of all, she means it as 'I love you, too.'

(And this time, she thinks, it finally does mean that.)

She lays her head on Naomi's chest, wraps her arms around Naomi's waist again. She hears her heart thump under her ear.

She closes her eyes.

(As long as Naomi's still beats, so will hers.)


	3. Naomi Campbell: Hope

Sometimes, when she falls asleep, she dreams.

Sometimes they're glimpses of the past. Other times, pieces of what she wants her future to be. Sometimes they're of specific people—Effy, Cook, Katie—and other times, they're of strangers she's never seen before. But they're always, _always_ about Emily, and there are two dreams that always reoccur. One of them is brief, but so, so vivid. Real, almost. When she's in it, she feels everything. Every touch, every emotion—as though what she sees is actually happening.

And this dream, it goes like this:

She's in her old bed, in her mum's house. She sleepily reaches for Emily, but all she feels is empty warmth. She frowns, grumpily opens her eyes. Stretches. Gets out of bed, puts on knickers. Walks downstairs to the kitchen, but stops at the doorframe, leans against it.

She finds Emily, her back turned against her, making tea.

Her chest tightens, overfilled with love and adoration for this girl in front of her, this girl whom she's known since she was 12, known at the age of 15 that she only wanted her and no one else, knew then that she will always be hopelessly tethered to this one girl.

And this girl, this girl is hers.

(She doesn't know how she ever got so lucky, to have her stars align this way, but every day she's grateful that Emily wrote herself into her book, highlighted the parts in it that make her knees weak, parts that she finds precious and special. She's grateful that Emily dog-eared the pages, wrote asides on the margins, filled the empty spaces to the brim.

And every day, she's thankful that Emily continues to do so.)

"You're going to perv at me some more there?"

Naomi smiles. "No." She walks up to her, wraps her arms around Emily's waist from behind.

She kisses chastely on Emily's neck. "I'll perv at you here."

Emily turns her face to Naomi, smiles. "You're a tit."

"Yeah," Naomi breathes out. She kisses her on the lips. "But you love me."

Emily nods, "Yeah." She leans back her weight on Naomi. "You have no idea how much."

But she does. _Oh _she does. She could tell how much Emily loves her from the look in Emily's eyes whenever she sees her; from the certain, effortless smile that Emily only gives her and no one else; from the way Emily traces her name with her fingertips on the small of her back with possession. She could tell from the way Emily says her name as though she's caressing it, and mumbles it on her skin like little love notes; from the way Emily lazily wraps her arms around her waist when Emily wakes up in the morning, like it belonged nowhere else but there; from the way Emily kisses her with equal amounts of tenderness and fearlessness; from the way Emily touches her reverently when they make love. And Naomi thinks that it almost rivals how much as_ she_ loves Emily, how much she simply _adores _this girl, but she doesn't say this, because she knows that Emily will only try to convince her that it's the other way around.

So instead, she smirks on Emily's neck, and says lowly, "Then show me."

And it's so domestically mundane, so comfortably routine, so _them, _that she never wants the dream to end. She wants to blanket herself in it, savor it, breathe it in completely. She wants to live it, over and over and over.

But more than that, she wants it to be _real. _

(Because what's currently real constricts her heart in a tightening grip, strangles her neck, suffocates her.

And it's becoming more and more unbearable to breathe, even through special means of tubes and IV drips.)

But it always ends. It _always _ends there. No matter how hard or how many times she wills herself to find her way back to it, it always dissipates, escapes from her grasp when she tries to take hold of it. And what's worse, this dream she constantly chases after is always followed by the one she constantly wants to run away from.

But she can't.

This other dream that haunts her mercilessly, this dream that frequents her mind, it's much longer than the first. Much hazier. Surreal.

A nightmare.

And it goes like this:

She's on the hospital bed. She shivers—she doesn't know if it's because it really is bitterly cold, or if it's a sign that her body's getting weaker. She pulls the thin blanket higher, but struggles to do so. She feels the sunlight hitting her eyelids and she sighs. It's morning, she thinks. She gets a reprieve to live another day.

She shifts, slowly tries to turn to face away from it, groans at how difficult it is—not because it hurts, but because her body feels numb, immobile. She can't move like she wants to, and it frustrates her.

She finally settles on her side when hears someone speak.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She knows before she opens her eyes that it's Emily. It's Emily and her distinct, husky voice that's laced with so much concern and anguish, and she's here, in her hospital room.

Emily's here, and she's seeing her like this, for the first time.

Her chest constricts tightly. It's out, Emily knows, and there's nothing Naomi can do. She can't do anything to rewrite their present, can't do anything to make Emily _un-know _it, can't stop Emily's heart from bleeding itself dry, and she can't bandage the wounds it's garnered from being impaled by the jaded, jagged truth, because her hands are much too callous and weak and unsteady as they are now.

Besides, her hands won't even fucking _move. _

Naomi sighs, defeated, her eyes still closed. "Would you, if you were me?"

"Yes," she hears Emily whisper, hears the clicks of her heels come closer to her bed. She feels Emily's hand clasp hers, feels the warmth of her breath on her cheek. "In a heartbeat, I would have."

She tries to open her eyes, but this action, too, she struggles with. She gets them to open half-way, blearily sees Emily's face—it's wet, tearstained, she thinks—Emily's biting her lip, but it's quivering.

(She feels her heart beat and break simultaneously.)

Naomi can't force them to stay open for too long. She closes her eyes. "Then you're braver than me," she breathes out, her breaths getting shallower. You always were, she thinks. You always are, and you always will be.

Beeping.

She hears something beeping.

"Naomi?"

It quickens, loud against her ears. Alarmingly so, and much too loud. She wants to cover her ears. She tries to. Can't. She doesn't have the energy to lift her arms.

So she submits, lies there.

"Naomi!" she hears Emily say, panicked.

"Hm?" She hums out tiredly. Her head feels light. Dizzying and soothing all at once.

"Don't you fucking leave me, Naomi!" she hears Emily shout desperately. She thinks Emily is shaking her shoulders. From Emily's shaky voice, it sounds like she's pushing and pulling, but Naomi doesn't feel any pressure or weight.

"Nurse! Nurse! Please! Anyone!"

Naomi wants to calm Emily down, run her hands up and down Emily's arms to soothe her, but even that, she can't. She's tired. Too, too tired. She wants to sleep, lay her head to rest, in a place with no more noise, in a place that's peaceful. But what she wants more than that is to tell Emily that she loves her, tell Emily that she has to promise her that she'll do everything she's always dreamed of, tell Emily that she didn't mean to hurt her, but she's out of time and she only has enough energy to say one thing.

So she tries to take one deep breath—one that'll make it count—and exhales, "I'm sorry." She doesn't know if those words are enough, if those words would mean to Emily what she wants them to mean—if Emily heard her at all, but she hopes she did. Naomi can still hear Emily's voice, but it's sounding farther and farther away, until it echoes.

Until she finally doesn't hear it anymore.

And that's where the dream ends, but see, it doesn't _stop. _Unlike the first, it replays, over and over and over in her head against her own volition, until she's finally granted a little mercy by her worst fear and wakes up at an odd hour of the night, drenched in own sweat, her body tense, and feeling nauseous all over.

(Still, being awake doesn't fair any better than surrendering herself to the monster in her head while she's asleep, because she thinks that, at this rate, the odds will favor this one becoming reality, and not the other.

And the only thing worse than dreaming a nightmare, is living it.)

But tonight, she's pardoned from it. She's sleeping, but she isn't dreaming. Her body's aching too much—from the uncomfortable bed, from the drugs they're pumping into her, from the tubes still attached in her arms— and her heart monitor's preventing her from sleeping deeply. It's loud and obtrusive and obnoxious and she wants it to _stop—_partly because it makes her think it's counting down to something she doesn't want to happen, and mostly because it reminds her of _that _andshe doesn't want to relive it more than she already has to—but she knows that if it stops, it means her own heart does too.

So she lies there, tries to sleep, until she feels her blanket being lifted, feels a draft coming in. She shivers, frowns that she's been woken up. She turns her head to see who it is.

It's _Emily._ It's Emily with her button nose and her tiny, lithe stature and her puppy brown eyes and Naomi feels herself sober up and awaken, feels her deadened heart beat with meaning and exude warmth throughout her body, feels herself regain some of the life she's lost over the past few months.

She feels, she feels, she _feels. _

She feels more alive than she's been, more alive than just _living_—which is what she's been doing for the past months—and she can't help but smile—as best as she can—because Emily's _here, _physically here with her.

But her smile soon falls when she sees Emily's face crumple, sees the tears forming in her eyes and immediately lays herself on her stomach, her entire body shaking.

Naomi remembers now.

It's Emily's first time seeing her like this, and it makes Naomi's heart hurt more than it already does. This is her nightmare blurring itself into her reality—this is her worst fear, one that she's been trying to fend off in her head, now, somehow, materializing itself into the present, and Emily's heart is bleeding for help, squirming in anguish, pleading for the pain to stop, and she can't do anything about it.

She's fucking helpless.

(She can't remember a time when she was never able to protect Emily_._ All their lives, since they've met, she's always defending Emily from something—her sister, her mum, and for a time, even from herself. She'd always stood tall and shielded Emily from harm's way. It's always been ingrained in her body to do so, a reflex.

She never anticipated the day when it'd come to _this, _when she wouldn't be able to protect Emily anymore, and it fucking _hurts_.)

Except.

Except this isn't her nightmare—she refuses to believe it is—because she can still move. She can move her arms, and her body, and everything else, and she can still _feel._

She looks up, finds Effy staring at her, at them.

No, she thinks resolutely. This isn't my nightmare. It isn't.

Naomi mouths to her 'thank you,' and means it. She's thanking her for bringing Emily here despite being told not to, thanking her for being by her side for the past months, thanking her being her best friend for the past years, thanking her for reasons she can't even begin to explain.

Effy nods at her and turns around to look away.

She understands, Naomi thinks.

(She always have, and it's enough.

It's always been enough.)

Naomi looks back down, runs her fingers through Emily's hair—just like she always does when Emily cries, to comfort her. And usually it does work. Emily would give her an appreciative smile, her tears would eventually subside, and she'd fall asleep in her arms.

But this time, it doesn't have the desired effect: it only makes her cry even harder.

"I'm sorry," Naomi tries to get out. She doesn't know why she's sorry—the list is too long to keep track of. She's sorry for making her cry, sorry that Emily had to find out this way, sorry that she's dying, sorry for hurting her again, sorry for being the sole reason why their plans together went awry and horribly, horribly wrong.

She's just sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. And there will never be enough words to convey what she's sorry for, never will be enough to repent everything she's done wrong.

She feels Emily nod against her stomach. "I know," Emily mumbles, and turns her face to Naomi's, her cheek still on her stomach. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She's heard this questioned asked by Emily in her head hundreds of times before, and still, it doesn't get any easier to answer. Part of her wants to tell Emily the truth, tell her that she didn't want to hurt her any more than she's already have, tell her that she couldn't stand the thought of Emily constantly shouldering a heavy, heavy truth to bear—and if Naomi were to be really honest, she'd tell her that she was afraid if she told, their time together would've been spent being reminded that _this _was looming over them. And all those reasons, she knows, are selfish. She was being selfish for Emily, for herself, for the both of them.

But she knows that Emily would only blame herself if she told her those things—if she told her the truth—so Naomi smiles remorsefully, and answers, "Would you, if you were me?"

She half-expects Emily to tell her, 'Yes. In a heartbeat, I would have,' but Emily doesn't. Instead, she settles her body next to her, lays her head on the crook of her neck. She hears Emily breathe in, out, and then plead to her desperately, "Don't you dare leave me, Naomi. Don't you dare."

Her heart breaks a little more, because there's nothing she can do to fix this. _God, _if there were a way, a way to stay with Emily for a little longer than the time allotted, a way to _not _break Emily's heart and have her fall apart, she'd find it, she'd do it. God knows she'd do in a second.

But she can't, she doesn't know of such way. And so she can only sweep Emily's hair to the side and apologize for the things she doesn't know how to change.

"I'm sorry, Ems," she breathes out, because she is. With all her heart, she is.

(She doesn't think she will ever _not _be sorry for this.

To her dying breath, she knows she will be.)

Naomi feels her nuzzle her neck, mumble on her skin, "This isn't fair."

She nods. "I know." She feels the same, knows that they don't deserve this, knows that they've been fucked in one hundred different ways, because they had _plans, _they had a _future, _but most of all, they had _time—_but she doesn't want to dwell on it. She doesn't want to spend her last few months angry and bitter about something inevitable. She has Emily right here, for now, and that's all that matters.

Emily's grip on her tightens. "It's not fair. We've only had five years together, Naomi. I still remember everything."

Naomi tries to turns her body—she's not as agile as she once was—and after a little effort, she succeeds. She brushes away Emily's tears on her face, tells her earnestly, "I do, too."

She leans in, kisses Emily on her temple. "Remember when we first kissed?"

Emily nods.

"I knew then, that you were the one." She laughs, because it's ridiculous to say it aloud, that she found her soul mate at the age of 15, but it's true, and she stands by it.

"It scared the fuck out of me," Naomi admits to her. She remembers how petrified she was, to realize that this girl, this girl who had the power to make her the happiest, also had the power to make her the saddest on a whim. She remembers thinking that this girl could potentially break her irreparably, remembers thinking that she couldn't bear it, to submit herself to someone else, to give Emily that hold on her and trust her not to critically pierce through her heart ten times over.

(But she did anyway, because with Emily, she couldn't help herself.

With Emily, she will never be able to help herself.)

"Is that why you ran?"

"Partly. But mostly because Katie looked like she was just 'bout to rip my throat out."

Emily grins at her. "Such a charmer, my sister." She runs her hands up the small of Naomi's back, traces her name lazily with her fingertips. "Do you remember when I followed you home from school?"

She wants to laugh, because there'd been so many times Emily had done that in college. But instead, she bites in inside of her cheek and asks, "Which time?"

"Oh, don't be a cunt. The day before we went to the lake."

How could she forget? That was the first time she admitted to herself that she was in love with this girl.

Naomi nods. "Yeah."

The look in Emily's eyes changes, reminiscing, almost. "That's when I knew, when we were laying on the floor. I thought, this girl, I love her. I can't—I can't _not _be with her. Right then, I knew I loved you."

She feels Emily's lips on her neck briefly. "I'm not letting you go, Naomi. I can't."

Naomi feels her chest tighten, because she knows, she _knows _that Emily would do that, knows that she would forever keep Naomi in her heart, let her occupy all of it. She knows that Emily would close its doors so only Naomi could cherish it, even after she's gone, and she knows that Emily would never open them again, to let someone else make her feel a fraction of what Naomi's made her feel.

She knows all of this and she can't let Emily do that to herself. She wants—_needs _Emily to be happy, even if it's without her.

(This is what love is, she thinks, to choose someone else over yourself over and over and over. Every time, without any hesitance, without any remorse.

That's what love is.)

"Em." Naomi pulls back to look at her. "Promise me, promise me when I'm not here anymore, you'll find someone good, yeah? Find someone who'll love you as much as I love you."

"I won't. There's no other you."

"Try, for me." Please, she thinks. You have to. For the both of us.

Emily shakes her head, her eyes shiny. "I can't."

"Please, Em." She want to grab Emily's shoulders and hold her with all she has. But instead, she threads her fingers through Emily's hair, because she feels winded, tired.

(What she wouldn't give, to just hold Emily properly again.)

"No," Emily tells her firmly.

Naomi feels her tears beginning to form, but tries to will them back. "I wouldn't be able to stand it, you know," she tries to get out, but it ends up being a whisper. "If I knew you'll be here alone, when I'm gone."

Emily straddles her, leans down to look at her. "Then don't leave," she croaks.

And it's such an innocent wish, such a simple plead, that it makes Naomi want to do anything to fulfill it, to make it be true, to not _leave. _

But it's not in her hands. She can't control what's fated and destined to be.

Her tears are falling freely now. "Em—"

"No," Emily cuts off. "We'll find a way. We will." She cups Naomi face with care, kisses all around her face. "I'm not leaving you, and you're not leaving me. We'll find a way, Naomi. We will."

Naomi wants to cry harder, because Emily's telling her things that make her want to hope again, make her want to believe that things can change, make her want to believe that the odds will end in their favor—but she can't do that. She can't let herself believe. She's been hoping for the past seven months, and things have only gotten worse.

Naomi gives her a sad smile. "He says it's terminal, Em."

"I don't care. We'll find the best doctor for you, in the States."

She shakes her head. "We don't have the mon—"

Emily holds her still. "I'll use my savings."

No, she thinks. Emily can't. She can't do that.

"Em, no. That's for New York, for your future."

"There is no future without you Naomi!" Emily leans down again, stares her down. "I don't care if I'm dirt poor or starving. I'll swallow my pride and beg my parents for money to pay for the medical bills if I have to. As long as there's a chance it'll keep you alive, I don't care. I need you here," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "I need you with me."

She wants to refute, wants to tell Emily that there_ is_ a future beyond her, one that contains everything she's ever wanted. She wants to tell Emily that it's not worth it, because she's fucking _dying _and her chances of surviving are so slim and she wants to tell her that she deserves someone who will last her a lifetime and love her beyond that.

But she sees the look on Emily's face, so fiercely determined, so full of headstrong hope, and so, so sure, that her resolve breaks.

She gives.

(For Emily, she lets herself hope, just one more time.)

Naomi nods, wraps Emily in her arms, breathes her in. "I love you," she whispers, and she means it to be so much more than she can begin to explain, means it to be so much more than she will _ever_ be able to explain.

Emily gives her a small smile. "I know," she says, in a tone that makes Naomi think that she already knows what she means, because Emily feels the same way.

Emily puts her head on her chest, where her heart is, and holds her, and Naomi sighs. She runs her fingers through Emily's hair, closes her eyes.

(She and Emily, they'll rewrite their story, rewrite their ending, leave ink on every single page, until the very last.

They'll face this, together.)


	4. Effy Stonem: Redemption

It's my fault, she thinks.

It's all my fault.

She sees Emily looking through the window to the hospital room, staring at Naomi—staring at her with this look of devastation on her face, contorted with anguish and confusion—and all Effy can hear in her head, loud and reverberating against its walls, is _it's all my fault._

If she'd just told Emily from the beginning and ignored Naomi's protests—if she wasn't so scared of the fucking truth—if she'd just picked up the fucking phone and _told, _this wouldn't be happening. Emily'd—Naomi'd—they would've been able to spend _months _together, with Naomi's body still able and her eyes still vibrant with life and her face still full of precious hope. If she'd just _told _then, they wouldn't be here, with only a month together—if even— with Naomi chained to that hospital bed, her body withered down to the bone, her breathing heavy and shallow, her face drained and pale and so empty, so fucking empty of hope.

She's stolen something from them, something that she's never going to be able to give back, and all she can do is see what it's done to them—what _she's _done to them. All she can do is feel it, accept it, because she can't run from this anymore. Reality's caught up with her, shoved her against the wall, seething with vengeance, and forced her to look at it straight in the eye.

(She doesn't even try to fight it anymore.)

"I can't go in," Emily whispers.

She turns to Effy, her tears welling up. "I just— I just need more time."

Effy feels her chest tighten with the deepest wave of sadness and regret—regret for every wrong she's done, for every right she didn't do—because this girl in front of her, along with Katie and Naomi, has held her together when she was falling apart, has put her back together when she shattered, has saved her from herself time and time again—she loves this girl with all her heart. This girl is her _family_, and now she's looking at her with this helpless expression in her eyes, pleading for something she can't give. This girl, who's always been so strong, so self-assured, so _brave_, is unraveling in front of her.

She feels her tears welling up in her eyes, and she knows her bottom lip is shaking, but she can't—she can't come undone. Emily's starting to fall apart and God knows Naomi already has and she can't—one of them _has_ to hold them all together. One of them has to be strong for the three of them.

So she looks up at the ceiling, wills her tears back, steels herself. She breathes in, breathes out through her mouth, and looks back down at Emily.

This time, she has to be the strong one.

(She owns them so much more, she thinks, but this is all she can give.)

"There isn't any more time, Emily," she says, as softly as she can.

Emily looks through the window, to Naomi's room. "I'm so angry with her," she seethes, her mouth clenched. She turns her face to Effy, and all Effy sees in Emily's watery eyes are unshed tears full of frustration and hurt and guilt—and Effy knows.

Emily's angry—angry at this circumstance she and Naomi have been forced in, angry at her, she's sure—but she isn't angry at Naomi.

Effy feels her heart sink, because, really, it doesn't matter why she's angry or who or what she's angry at. It doesn't matter because there's simply no more time left _to_ be angry.

And it's because of my doing, she thinks.

It's because of me.

"She's dying, Emily," she tells her. She knows that Emily doesn't want to hear any more truths, but she needs to say it. She's withheld it from Emily for far too long, and even though it's much too late, she needs Emily to hear it. And she knows it's selfish for her to do so, because part of her thinks that if she finally says it to her, her guilt will lessen; that maybe it'll help ease this horrible, horrible ache, even just for a little bit, for the both of them—make their hearts hurt less than they do.

(It doesn't.)

Emily nods, defeated. "I know," she croaks, her face crumpling into the beginnings of sobs.

_God, _she thinks as she grabs Emily's shoulders and pulls her in a fierce hug.

She did this to her. She fucking did this to her, to Naomi, to _them. _She's the reason why they're here and all she wants to do is tell them with all her heart that she's sorry, so, so sorry for being a terrible friend, for all she's done to them, for being so _selfish. _

But she knows 'sorry' isn't enough to repent all she's done. 'Sorry' doesn't mean anything, doesn't fix anything, doesn't undo her mistakes. She knows, she _knows _that this is her own burden to carry, heavy and leaded, for the rest of her life.

She knows this, and she has to live with it.

(She can't let herself wish on hopeless things, for things to magically right themselves again.)

So she takes a deep breath, tries to recomposes herself. She pulls back from Emily, tells her, "Look at me."

"Be strong," Effy says firmly. "You have to be strong for her like she was strong for you."

Because I wasn't, she thinks. She wasn't and this weight she shoulders will always be with her, haunting her, reminding her that she will never be able to repay what she's taken unrightfully. And this—this _thing _is so much more grueling than being strong for her. It's a torturous punishment full of regrets that strangles her, suffocates her.

Emily nods weakly at her, still looking like she's about to cry again. Effy squeezes her shoulders reassuringly and Emily takes in a slow, deep breath, exhales. She nods at her one more time, and walks in.

Effy sees Emily stare at Naomi for a moment, then brings the blanket up to crawl in. Naomi turns her head, gives Emily a smile that Effy hasn't seen on her face in _months, _and she sees Emily begin to crumble—slowly, at first—then falls apart, all at once, curling herself to Naomi's waist, her body shaking violently.

Effy bites her lip, forces her tears back. She won't—she _won't. _She doesn't have to the right to fall apart. This is their moment. This is the only thing that she can give them, after everything.

She won't ruin it.

Naomi looks up at her and finds her gaze. She gives her a grateful smile, mouths to her 'thank you,' and Effy purses her lips harder.

God, Naomi's thanking her, _thanking _her. All she's done is run away—from herself, from Naomi—pushed away everything that _meant _something to her so thoughtlessly, burrowed her head in the sand in moments of selfishness and self-interest. She's done nothing to deserve this gratitude and yet Naomi's _thanking _her.

But she nods, because she can't _not _nod, and turns around so Naomi doesn't see her tears threatening to fall.

She closes her eyes.

She should've been there for Naomi, from the very beginning. She should've sat with her to watch the telly, just like she wanted. She should've held her all those nights when Naomi cried because of how much it _hurt. _She should've stayed by her side all those times, because that's what Naomi would've wanted—that's what she _needed. _ And most of all, she should've done what Naomi was silently pleading her to do.

She should've told Emily. She should've told Emily when Naomi first told her on the rooftop; should've told her when she came over four months ago; should've told her when Naomi started chemotherapy; should've told her when Naomi was admitted to the hospital. She had so many chances to tell her. So many fucking chances—and she didn't. She fucking didn't because she didn't want this to be _real. _She didn't want to believe that her best friend was dying, didn't want to believe that Naomi's life was ticking down like a clock, didn't want to believe that Naomi was going to be gone soon. So, so soon.

She didn't want to believe any of it.

She wanted to pretend, wanted to believe that if she didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't true; wanted to believe that everything would right themselves again. She wanted to pretend that everything was _fine, _and she was more than willing to live in her fantasy, just to escape her vicious reality.

And her reckless desire to _pretend _has led her to _this._

She feels her tears falling, and quickly wipes them away. She turns back around to look through the window, to the hospital room, and sees Emily leaning close to Naomi's face, cupping her cheek, tears marring both their faces. She sees Emily whispering something to her, sees the anguish in Naomi's eyes—the same look that was in her eyes when they were at the airport four months ago, after Emily left.

_("Why're you doing this?"_

"_Because I love her.")_

She remembers that day. It was the day she almost told Emily about Naomi's condition—but she didn't, because Naomi pleaded her not to.

_("Why won't you tell her the truth?"_

"_Because she matters more than the truth does.")_

She didn't understand then, what Naomi meant by it, but looking at them now, she understands. Seeing Emily happy and pursuing her dream meant more to Naomi than her knowing the truth, meant more to her than having Emily by her side through it all, meant more to her than her _dying. _

She understands this now because she realizes that _they _matter more to her than the truth does. They matter more than being forced back into reality and being shackled with guilt and regret and every other emotion she didn't want to feel. They matter more than the sentence she's about to face; matter more than her fear of confronting her demons and every mistake.

They _matter, _so much more than she matters to herself, and it's taken her _this _to realize it.

She sees Emily lay down, her head on Naomi's chest; sees Naomi comb through Emily's hair with her fingers, sees Naomi's eyes lighten—glint with hope—before she closes them.

She knows she can't right all her wrongs, but she's willing to try.

Effy turns around, walks through the corridors, and down the stairs. She pulls out her phone, dials a familiar number.

She's willing to try.

It rings four times before the person on the other line picks up, scolding her in a sleepy voice.

"_Christ. It's two in the fucking morning. Who the fuck is this?"_

She feels tears pinpricking her eyes. She tries to breathe them away, enough to steady her voice, enough for her words to come through.

"_Hello?"_

She inhales deeply. Exhales.

She has to make things right.

"Hey, Katie," she whispers, her voice sounding hoarse and tired, but laced with renewed lightness. "It's me, Effy."


	5. Katie Fitch: Humility

**A/N: **So remember when I told you this story was going to end on Effy? I lied. It felt too incomplete and inconclusive to me, to end it where Skins: Fire did. So I went back to writing, and Katie's chapter came out.

**A/N 2: **I might do a sequel to this story, after the epilogue. Would you want a sequel to this sequel?

**A/N 3: **I did not proofread this, so mistakes are all mine. I'll fix it up when I get around it... that is if I don't get that cringe-y feeling rereading my own work.

* * *

When she was 13, she made a book filled with her dreams—pages and pages worth of what she wanted her life to be when she grew up. She wanted to be surrounded by the perfect group of friends by the age of 17, friends whom she could share secrets to, friends who would come over in the middle of the night, armed with vodka and an assortment of pills, when she needed a good cry. She wanted the perfect boyfriend around her arms by the age of 20, a man who'd give a damn about her and _stay. _In that book, she wanted the perfect job as a designer by the age of 21, get married by the age of 24, buy a flat with her husband by the age of 25, and have their first child by the age of 27.

(But nowhere in that book of hers was her sister mentioned—nowhere at all. Because by the age of 13, she'd considered Emily her shadow, a constant fixture in her life, something that would always just _be_ there.

And for something that was a guaranteed given, there was simply no reason to make room for it.)

Laying in her bed now, in her small flat in France, she thinks about where she went wrong, how _none _of what she'd hoped her life would be came true. She had _plans. _She was meant to _be _someone, meant to _be _somewhere in life. Not this, not here—not working as a cashier at a low-end boutique shop, not shagging randoms on Friday nights, not drowning herself in vodka and downing pills to give her peace of mind, not feeling so fucking _alone. _

(She keeps telling herself that things will get easier, that she'll get used to it, that she'll be content with it.

But things still aren't, she still hasn't, and she still isn't.)

She sighs, turns her body to the side. She wonders how her and Emily's life ended up to be so drastically different—with her sister in New York chasing her fucking dream, and her here, living at a 9 to 5 basis where her days blur together; with her sister being so lovey-dovey with Naomi that she could practically hear the wedding bells and see gay frolicking doves around them, and she still unable to find a boyfriend who'd stay for longer than two months.

(When they leave—and it's almost always a guarantee that they leave—she tells herself that _they _were the problem, not her.

Still, it doesn't make the silence in her flat any easier to bear, and it doesn't make it any easier to convince herself this when _she's _the one who comes home to the empty bed.)

She wonders and wonders and wonders, tosses and turns at these thoughts that eat at her, because although she's proud of Emily—so fucking proud of her—if she were to be honestly with herself, part of her feels as though Emily has stolen the life she could've had—the life she was supposed to have. Part of her feels envious, because they're _twins. _They're supposed to be the same, and yet their lives couldn't be any more different, with Emily instead of her being the one who lucked out to _New York_—interning for some big shot agency and having the time of her life, she's sure.

(Emily doesn't like telling her about things like this during their weekly phone conversations, and Katie doesn't want to ask.

She doesn't want to know.)

But if she were to be really honest with herself, what she really wonders about, what she's too afraid to ask herself, is when did she let herself devolve this way, to have let life push her down off her feet, to have herself lie there in defeat.

(But she isn't going to be, and she won't be any time soon, because if she does, she'd have to face the fact that where she is now—_who _she is now, it's all her own doing.)

So she lies there on her bed, sleepy but not yet asleep, living but not quite alive, looking forward to the night where, just for a little while, her life isn't so depressing, where she's not constantly _waiting _for something, and where her dreams are still beating with vigor.

(Come morning, it's always a different story: most of her dreams are dead by the time she wakes, and the ones that aren't yet are squirming on the floors of her mind, pleading her to save them.

But all she does is watch them writhe near her feet and apologizes profusely—to whom she's never quite sure. All she does is wait helplessly for night to come, for her dreams to thump with life again, because reality won't release her shackled wrists—it's much too content with pulling her mercilessly along at its whim, wherever it goes.

And all she can do is follow.)

She feels herself slowly slipping, slowly drifting to sleep, when her phone rings.

She groans, already feeling annoyance bubble up for this caller as she blindly reaches for her cell on the nightstand. She curses under breath as she feels for her phone, and after a bit of flailing and knocked over pills and alarm clocks, she finally gets a hold of it, and answers without looking to see who it is.

"Christ," she mumbles irritably. "It's two in the fucking morning. Who the fuck is this?"

She hears measured breathing on the other line, as though this person was trying not to cry.

She sobers immediately, because out of all the people who had her number, and out of all of those who'd actually call her, there are only two who'd call her when they were like this, only two who'd come to her when they were on the verge of tears and falling apart.

And those two, they're the only two people in the world whom she'd go the ends of the Earth for.

(She would never outright admit it, but she would.)

"Hello?" She asks tentatively, partly trying to figure out which one this person is, and partly trying to gauge how bad the situation is.

She hears them take a deep breath, and then hears them say softly, wearily, _"Hey, Katie. It's me, Effy."_

It wasn't odd for Effy to call her at this time. Sometimes Effy drunk-dials her—high off of MDMA and pills—and asks her about things, things that Katie doesn't know the answer to, like why she feels so empty inside, or why they're all living in the first place, or whether or not Katie's _happy_. Sometimes Effy calls her when she's sober and asks her how she's doing—sometimes even boldly asks her when she was ever going to finally say 'fuck it' to all of it in France and quit her dead-end job, to finally move to London and go back to uni, to finally pursue her dream of being designer—or in Effy's actual words, to 'Stop being a twat and do what you want. You're Katie fucking Fitch, aren't you?' And Katie almost always hangs up on her whenever Effy brings any of that up, only to mutter 'Fucking bitch,' when Effy calls her again five seconds later and gives her a half-assed apology that consisted of 'Redo.'

(Because what Effy doesn't realize is that Katie hasn't been that person in a very long time.

Katie doesn't think that girl even exists anymore.)

But it was rare when Effy calls her for help or for her to glue together Effy's cracking pieces again—Effy is _Effy, _after all. Whenever Effy did, though, Katie would always make a quick quip about the other traders at Effy's company, make a not-so-empty promise that she'd cut off the dick of whoever's making her cry—or something along those lines, all equally barbaric and gory. Usually it'd do the trick: it'd get a small laugh out of Effy, make her predictably say "I'll let you know if it ever comes to that" with a smile in her voice, and everything would seemingly be okay again.

Regardless of the time or the state Effy was in or why she'd call her in the first place, Katie always picked up her phone, and her greeting would always ranged from 'fuck off' to 'bitch, do you _have_ a clock?' depending on how she was feeling that night. It was just how they worked, and it's been working for the past three years.

But tonight wasn't a regular night. Something wasn't right. Katie sensed it the moment she heard a pause in Effy's response, sensed it with Effy's tone and how she was talking to her now.

Something's off, she thinks.

Katie sits up, doesn't proceed with her usual banter. Instead, she asks, concerned, "What's wrong?"

"_Naomi dying. Emily's here in London with her,"_ Effy rushes, her tone eerily neutral. _"I'm booking the earliest flight for you—it's in an hour. You need to pack your things."_

Katie rubs her eyes, trying to wake up faster. All she heard was 'Naomi' and 'dying' and 'Emily' and 'pack your things,' and Katie thinks that she must've heard her wrong, because all those things in a single sentence don't go together at all.

"What?" She asks, trying to keep up with what Effy was saying and piece it together.

Effy doesn't pause_. "I'm booking three flights to the States for the morning. You need to get them to the best doctor. I'm transferring all my money from my bank account to yours."_

Katie hears the last sentence clearly and her eyes go wide. "What the fuck?"

"_I'm liquidating all my assets and transferring that to you, too, and—"_

She stands up, screeches in her phone, "Have you gone mental!?"

Effy apparently isn't fazed by her outburst, because she doesn't stop to respond to that. _"I'm getting the doctor's consent right now for Naomi to be released by morning. She'll need help walking—it's best for her to be in a wheelchair. I'll go back to the apartment and pack her things."_

Katie closes her eyes, feels a headache coming on. She doesn't understand what Effy was saying, what Effy was doing. Why was she giving Katie all her money suddenly?—Why at all? And why does Naomi need to get a doctor's approval—was she in a hospital? Why did she need help walking? Why was Effy packing Naomi's things?

(How far she's come, to actually _care _about Naomi's wellbeing.)

She breathes out sharply, shakes her head to clear it. "Babes, stop," Katie tells her. "Slow the fuck down for me."

"_There's no more time, Katie,"_ she insists. _"There isn't any more time."_

"Okay," she placates, upon hearing the urgency in Effy's voice. She decides to stop asking questions, thinking it's best to wait for a better time to ask—when Effy isn't having a panic attack over the phone and it's not fucking two in the morning and she's had some tea in her system.

(If she'd actually been listening to Effy closely, she'd know that there is no such thing as a better time now, because there _is _no more time.)

She still doesn't know what's going on, and she's still disoriented with the entire situation, but she tells Effy, "Okay. Just—Let me pack my things, yeah?" She slips on her jumper and trousers and pulls her luggage out from her closet.

"_I'll see you at the airport,"_ Effy says, and hangs up.

Katie puts her phone in her purse, along with her wallet and keys, and throws as much clothes in her luggage as she can before closing it. She pulls it up, rolls it toward the door, her purse in hand. She exits her flat and hails a cab in the blistering winter cold.

It takes a few minutes, but one of them finally stops for her. She enters the cab, tells the driver to head to the airport.

She looks out the window as he drives, sees the streets empty of drunkards and lost souls but heaps high with untreaded snow. None of the stores have their lights on except for the pubs, but even still, the people in them are scarce. She sees the Eiffel Tower creeping into view, dim from where she is. She thinks it's probably brighter, almost as bright as the stars among the night's darkness, if she were closer. After a few minutes of heading straight for it, she begins to think that they're heading in that direction—but then the driver turns sharply to the left, toward where she's actually going—the airport—and she sees that they're going to have to pass through thick fog.

Katie sighs.

Of course, she thinks.

Of fucking course.

* * *

She feels someone grab her arm before she even fully steps off the escalator.

"What the fu—" She turns her head, about slap this person as hard as she can, when she sees who it actually is that's got a hold of her.

It's Effy.

"My car's this way," Effy tells her evenly, unflinching.

She huffs, about to spit out a vicious comment at her, like how Effy's meds must not be working because pulling people against their will isn't fucking _normal _and how she's fucking lucky she didn't get a slap that would've sent her all the way back to Bristol.

But then she notices how Effy's eyes are red-rimmed, how her face is puffy, how she's keeping her lips pursed, as though she's trying to keep them from quivering, how her eyes are look dull and resigned, and—God, Katie thinks. She's just a complete fucking mess.

She lowers her arm, her desire to claw at Effy and tear her apart seemingly dissipated, replaced by her desire to know what's _wrong_, replaced by her overwhelming instinct to protect those who're dear to her. But she knows that if she asks Effy what's eating at her now, it'd probably set her off—it already looks like she's barely holding it together as it is.

So Katie nods at her and follows obediently, trailing her luggage behind her.

Whatever she needs to know, it can wait.

_She_ can wait.

(She's been waiting for the past three years with everything else, after all.

A few more minutes won't make a difference.)

Effy tells her that they're going to the hospital as they get into her car. Katie reflexively wants to ask why again, but holds her tongue. She compliantly puts her seatbelt on and nods, reminding herself that there's a later time for all her questions that need answers.

(There's _always _a later for Katie. Whether it's her way of coping with something she already knows, or whether it's her way of avoiding the inevitable truth, Katie still hasn't figured it out.)

For now, Katie remains mute, for once in her life not being able to think of anything to talk about because all she wants to say is 'what the fuck are we doing?' and 'what's wrong with you?' and 'fucking _talk,_'—but none of those things would be taken well by Effy, Katie thinks, who still looks out of sorts next to her. So she sits there as the car slowly becomes filled with everything she wants to say and nothing she actually says, as it slowly becomes suffocating with tension between them because Effy apparently doesn't find any reason to fill in the silence and Katie _can't _right now and more and more Katie just feels like she can't fucking _breathe _in the car.

Until they finally reach to a large white building, and Effy parks her car in front of it. She feels her chest ease as they exit the car and enter the building. They sign in, head up the stairs. It's not until they reach the 4th floor that Effy enters the hallways and turns right, stopping when she gets to the middle of the corridor. Katie follow a few steps behind her, and when she sees Effy staring through a window to a hospital room, she turns her line of vision to see what Effy's staring at.

The first thing she sees—the first _person _she sees is her sister, sleeping, draped over someone else. Her eyes, although closed, are just like Effy's—puffy. Her cheeks pink, and her nose is red—she must've been crying loads Katie thinks. She sees Emily's hands gripped tightly at the girl's shirt beneath her—her knuckles white—sees the other girl's arms around Emily, sees that Emily's head is tucked until her chin. She sees all of this and she immediately frowns, not understanding what she's seeing in front of her, because Emily's supposed to be with Naomi and, from the phone call she had with her sister a few days ago, they were still very much together and 'in love' and all those other words Katie didn't particularly care for.

None of this makes any sense, because Emily's still with Naomi but she's holding onto this girl like she's her lifeline, this girl whose hair is thinning and whose lips are chapped and whose body is sickly skinny—this girl looks like she just _personifies _death. Emily wouldn't cheat on Naomi, much less for this gir—

And then it dawns on her, that this person who Emily's clutching so dearly with her hands, this person who her sister is holding onto as though she's horribly afraid that they're going to taken away from her, this person_ might_ be Naomi.

She feels bile rising up her throat at the thought, because despite her and Naomi's rocky relationship with each other, she'd never wish upon her _this._

She turns to face Effy, unable to keep silent anymore. She has to ask. She has to _know. _

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on, Effy?" She forcefully spits out.

Effy, stays mute. Doesn't turn, doesn't talk.

Katie balls her hands into fists. She feels herself becoming more and more frustrated at Effy's silence, feels her anger rising to her chest and spread throughout her body. She clenches until her knuckles turn white just to stop herself from slapping Effy as hard as she can so she'd fucking _say something. _Say _anything. _

(Whenever Effy gets like this, Katie always wonders if she herself is _this _apathetic with her own life as Effy is with everything else—but she always cuts this thought short before she reaches an actual answer, in favor of convincing herself that they're not the same.

Because they're not, she tells herself. They're not the same.)

After a long moment, Effy finally answers her question, but not the one she's actually asking about. "I'm going to jail," she says neutrally, like she always fucking does. "Tomorrow."

Out of all the things Katie was expecting her to say, she wasn't expecting that.

She's taken aback.

"What?"

Effy's doesn't turn to look at her, her gazed still fixed on what's in front of her. "Insider trading," she elaborates.

It takes five seconds for Katie to finally process what she's said, another three seconds for her emotions to catch up to her, and another second to pick one of them—any of them— to latch onto.

It ends up being outrage.

"Effy, are you fucking stupid?" She pushes Effy's shoulder roughly. "What were you thinking? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

A small, humorless smile appears on Effy's lips. "Many things, Katie. You know that."

She shakes her head. She can't even begin to comprehend how fucked up Effy is, how fucked up this entire situation is. Effy brought her all the way to London like a speed demon straight from Hell to a depressing hospital, to tell her that she's been caught doing only retards would consider doing, to tell her that she was going to jail because of it, all with only a day notice.

Fuck, she thinks. Effy's going to _jail. _

She goes to sit down on the chair behind them, puts her head in her hands. "Christ."

Effy finally turns around, goes to sit down next to her. "Naomi has cancer," she says. "She doesn't have much time."

She snaps her head up. "What the fuck_, _Effy? What the _fuck?_" She feels her fingernails cutting through the skin on her palms—the pain being the only thing that's keeping her present enough to _not _hit Effy—because for fuck's sake, Effy decides that _now _was the time to tell Katie all the truths she's been withholding from her? After telling her that she's going to be gone from her life, now Naomi too?

Oh, _God, _what about Emily?

Effy must see the anguish and confusion in her eyes, because she follows with, "Naomi told me I couldn't tell."

She clenches her fists tighter—she's sure her palms are bleeding now—and grits through her teeth, "Did Emily know?"

Effy shakes her head. "Not until I phoned her yesterday morning."

She turns her head to the window, to where Emily and Naomi are, still in the same position. She thinks about the first time she caught them like that in her old room and contorted her face in disgust, thinks about the many times afterwards she caught them like that at Cook's parties and rolled her eyes at them, thinks about the times she caught them like that at Effy's apartment and she accidently let a sad smile slip. She thinks about how Emily would gush to her about how they were going to travel together after she was done with her internship and how they'd get a flat together and get married and settle down, how Emily would tell her with wide eyes when they were younger that 'Naomi was the one, and how Emily would randomly tell her during their phone conversations that 'Naomi's it,' as though she couldn't help but let it spill from her lips.

And Katie believed her. Out of everything to believe and everything she didn't, she believed Emily, and she believed that what her sister and Naomi had was something that'd last.

She never realized just how fragile something like that could be, how fleeting it all could be, until now.

(It's a shame, really, that the only way for her to realize this was by someone dying and someone leaving.)

"I'm so sorry," Effy whispers, her voice cracking.

She turns her head back to Effy and sees her staring back at her, and she honest to _God _wants to lash out at this girl, for everything she's fucking done. But she sees the blame and guilt in her eyes, sees the tired slump in her body and her disheveled hair, sees the cracks in her glassy-blue eyes, and Katie can't bring herself to. She feels her chest tighten in sympathy, in empathy, in pity, because it's obvious that Effy's already punishing herself, so much worse than she ever can.

And that's partly why she shakes her head at Effy. She doesn't know who Effy's saying 'sorry' to—if it's to her or her sister or Naomi or maybe to all three of them—and she doesn't know exactly why she's saying 'sorry'—because there're so many plausible reasons. But she shook her head anyway because she doesn't want Effy to be saying 'sorry' to _her. _She doesn't want Effy to carry any more regrets or feel any more remorse than she already does, because Effy didn't owe her this truth, not really. And Effy's already carrying ten-ton burdens because of what she's done—or rather, what she didn't do— for Emily. She owed _Emily _this truth, and so she owes her sister the apology—and so much more, Katie thinks—but not her.

"Babes," Katie says gently. "I'm not the one you should be saying sorry to."

Effy nods somberly. "I know." She moves her gaze, looks straight-ahead. "But I don't think they'll ever forgive me."

She doesn't say anything in response. As much as she wants to tell Effy that they will, to stop Effy from hurting, she can't. She honestly doesn't know if they'll forgive her—because as much as she'd hate to admit it, she wouldn't if she were in their position—and she doesn't want to lie to Effy just to give her false reassurance.

(Effy would see right through it anyway, Katie thinks.)

It doesn't seem like Effy minded Katie's silence to what she said, because she turns to face her again and asks her, "How much did you catch from our conversation on the phone?"

Katie scoffs. "I caught, like, nothing. You threw 10 anvils at me out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, and expect me to catch them all?"

She shrugs. "I'll tell you again, then." She searches in her bag, tells Katie, "Everything I have, I'm liquidating it. I'm transferring all my money to you."

Effy produces three flight tickets and hands them to her. "Here are three tickets to the States, set to leave at 8."

"And here are the keys to my car." She reaches in her coat pocket and takes out her keys from her pocket to give to Katie. "Naomi's things are in the back of it. I've already arranged with her doctor to transfer her to another hospital in the States. It's John Hopkins Hospital. Naomi'll have the best chance there."

She squeezes Katie's hand, both reassuringly and pleadingly. "Please take care of them, Katie."

She looks at what Effy's given in her hands, speechless. She doesn't know what to say. Effy—Effy's giving her _everything, _everything to fix her mistakes, everything to make things right again. Effy's giving her everything she's ever worked for and all she's ever aspired to gain, and she's giving it all to her, for Emily, for Naomi.

She looks up to Effy again, whose looking at her like she's her last and only hope, and she wonders when Effy's ever been this selfless, when she was ever this willing to sacrifice herself for someone else, when Effy suddenly became so _different _from her to do this for them. She wonders all this and it makes her think about how she's been treating her sister for the last few months, for the past few years, and _fuck, _she feels like _shit. _She's been so petty with Emily, been treating her like something that'd always be there, been treating her like she's disposable when she fucking _isn't. _Emily's not someone she can throw away and replace. She's her _sister. _Out of all the things in her life, her sister shouldn't be the person that she'd be so willing to lose.

When did she ever let herself forget that?

She nods at Effy, silently promises to her and herself that she'll be there for them this time, for her sister—like she should've been from the start. She promises herself that whatever happens, she'll always be by her sister's side. Always.

She turns her head to look at Emily and Naomi, sees that Naomi still hasn't moved or loosened her hold on Emily, but sees that her sister's starting to rouse from her sleep.

She stands up on her feet, grabs Effy's hand to pull her up. She leads them toward the door, to the inside of the hospital room, and walks in, the clicks of their heels waking Emily up as she opens her eyes.

Emily meets her gaze, and Katie smiles softly at her.

She may have forgotten what's truly important in her life, but she remembers now.

(She remembers, and this time, she's not letting it go.)

* * *

**A/N: **Epilogue next. Are you ready?!


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